


(I Wish I Could Keep) You in My Arms

by lavenderlotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Shower Sex, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 14:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16064750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: “Hi, baby,” Stiles whispers, and Isaac's breath shudders out of him in a warm exhale that hits Stiles' eyes.Isaac initiates the kiss, leaning down and pressing their lips together. It's achingly gentle, one of Stiles' favourite way to kiss him. He smooths his thumbs over Isaac's jaw, catching his bottom lip between his own. When Isaac pulls back he chases forward, just a little, pressing one last smooching kiss to Isaac's lips.





	(I Wish I Could Keep) You in My Arms

Stiles knows who is at the door as soon as he hears the knock. There's only one person it could be, and he shares a long look with his dad before standing from the kitchen table, pushing his plate away as he does. He's not going to be able to eat anymore tonight, not if it was bad enough for Isaac to show up without sending him a text first.

Swallowing around the heavy lump that has formed in his throat, he tries his best to steel himself as he walks to the front door, attempting to push down his anger before he has to face his boyfriend. It's not easy with the way that rage is bubbling under his skin, making it feel like his blood is boiling. It's not what Isaac needs from him, though, and that helps him calm down as he opens the door.

His eyes burn as soon as he sees Isaac, and his chest goes so tight that he can't breathe. There is a fading bruise covering Isaac's left eye, but the one on his right is new, the skin swollen so much that it's half shut. He's curled into himself, his shoulders hunched as he tries to make himself look as small as possible. One arm is wrapped around his waist, and Stiles knows that the way Isaac is holding the other forearm means that he's covering either another bruise or a cut.

Stiles has to bite into his bottom lip to keep down a sob. He wants to wrap his hands around Mr. Lahey's throat and squeeze and squeeze until the life has drained from his eyes and he's sure that Isaac will never be hurt by him again. He wants to steal his dad's service weapon and fire a round into Mr. Lahey's head and bury him in his own damn graveyard. He wants to yell at Isaac to  _ tell _ someone, to officially report his father for the abuse he has dealt out for more years than Stiles wishes to count.

But he does none of that. Instead, he opens his arms as Isaac shuffles through the doorway, pushing the door shut behind him. Once he's able to, Stiles pulls him in close, though he keeps his hold on Isaac loose—he knows that there is still a dark, angry bruise in the middle of his back from where Mr. Lahey shoved him into a door handle a few days ago. 

Stiles cups the back of Isaac's neck with a wide palm, sliding his fingers up into his curly hair. He shudders, his entire body shaking once before he goes loose, tension draining out of his body. Stiles knows how tight Isaac carries himself, especially around his father, and he runs his other hand in large, gently strokes up and down Isaac's back. His breath is warm and damp against Stiles' neck, and holding Isaac like this hurts in a way nothing has since he lost his mother, hurts in a way he never thought he would hurt again.

Stiles doesn't say anything. He focuses on keeping his breathing calm and even as he rubs slow circles into Isaac's back and softly scratches his nails over the back of Isaac's neck in a way the boy loves. Like this, with Isaac curled into him and hiding away in his arms, the couple of inches that Isaac has on him don't matter. Stiles is broad-shouldered, long-armed and big handed, and he feels like his body was made just to hold Isaac like this.

After several quiet minutes, Isaac wraps his own arms around Stiles' waist, fisting the back of Stiles' t-shirt into his hands and holding tightly. It always takes a few minutes for him to hug back, but Stiles doesn't mind. Isaac always hugs a little desperately, holding too tight as though he'll be ripped away. Stiles turns his head so that he can press a long kiss into Isaac's hair, breathing in as deeply as he can.

He doesn't say anything, choking down pleas that he knows Isaac will ignore. His dad is making a bit of noise in the kitchen, mostly to let Isaac know that he's here as well, though he’s probably cleaning as he waits. There'll be enough leftovers for them to take as lunches tomorrow, which just means they can sleep in a bit more. Silver linings, Stiles tells himself.

Isaac starts to pull back, untangling his fingers from Stiles' shirt so that he can settle his hands over Stiles' hips. He straightens up, though he doesn't try to act like he's okay—he stopped doing that ages ago, and Stiles will always cherish how vulnerable Isaac allows himself to be in his presence. 

His face is tear-tracked, his cheeks still damp. Gently, Stiles wipes over them with the very tips of his thumbs as he trails his hands down and back until he's holding Isaac's head in his palms, thumbs now brushing over the sharp line of his jaw.

“Hi, baby,” Stiles whispers, and Isaac's breath shudders out of him in a warm exhale that hits Stiles' eyes.

Isaac initiates the kiss, leaning down and pressing their lips together. It's achingly gentle, one of Stiles' favourite way to kiss him. He smooths his thumbs over Isaac's jaw, catching his bottom lip between his own. When Isaac pulls back he chases forward, just a little, pressing one last smooching kiss to Isaac's lips.

“Hey,” It's a whisper, but Stiles can see hear the hoarseness of his voice. He knows what it means, but he doesn't say anything, not yet.

“Do you want something to drink?” Stiles asks. He knows that Isaac appreciates the distraction. Most likely, they won't talk about what had happened until much later, and Stiles is okay with that. If Isaac needs him to talk about something else—well, Stiles has always been good at talking.

“If you're hungry, Dad made pasta,” Stiles says, taking Isaac's hand and staying pressed into his side as he pulls them into the kitchen. He drops his voice before adding, “It's not very good, but he tried really hard.”

Isaac laughs, a soft little thing, and Stiles preens a little. He doesn't think he'll ever get over how good it feels to make Isaac laugh. When they enter the kitchen, their dinner is mostly packed away, though there's a plate on the table should Isaac choose to eat. Stiles knows that he probably won't—it's not surprising that Isaac doesn't usually have much of an appetite, but it still makes Stiles' chest tight with worry every time he doesn't eat.

Something painful flashes over Dad's face when he turns and takes in Isaac's appearance, though he does nothing but open up his arms, and Stiles lets go of Isaac's hand so that he can walk forward.

“Hey, son,” Dad says, pulling Isaac into a hug.

It lasts for a long time, as their hugs always do, and Stiles can see the way his boyfriend shakes in his dad's arms. It breaks his heart, every time this happens, and he rubs at his own wet eyes. He can't cry, not when Isaac needs him to be strong for them both. Taking a deep breath helps, and he manages to push down most of the helplessness he feels.

“He locked me in the freezer again,” Isaac whispers, and Stiles covers his mouth with his hand to hold in an angry, hurt noise.

He sees his dad tighten his hold around Isaac, and even though Stiles knows it must hurt against the bruises that cover his back, Isaac makes no noise of protest. Stiles needs something to do, with the way he feels like he's going to vibrate out of his own skin with fury, and he sets about packing up the rest of their dinner. As he divvies up the leftovers into containers, he hums tunelessly under his breath to give his Dad and Isaac some measure of privacy without leaving the room.

Stiles knows that they've been talking about something when he's not around. It doesn't bother him that they're close; he will forever be thankful for the way his dad has accepted Isaac into their lives, into their  _ family _ . Only once, the very first night that Stiles asked to have Isaac sleepover did his dad question it, and since then he's taken to Isaac as if he were his second son. He's even more glad that Isaac seems to look up to his dad as just that: a father figure that loves him.

They don't step away from each other until Stiles is done with the dishes, and Stiles looks over to find Dad smiling as he wipes more wetness from Isaac's cheeks. Stiles' heart clenches painfully, but it's almost a good feeling, one where he wonders how he could possibly have gotten so lucky to have these two people in his life.

“Can we go upstairs?” Isaac asks quietly, and Stiles nods, stepping forward and letting Isaac fall into his side. He wraps an arm around the other boy's waist and helps him up the stairs, sharing a look with his dad over his shoulder. Isaac isn't limping, but he seems exhausted, like he can hardly hold himself up.

He ushers them both straight into the bathroom, knowing how much Isaac will appreciate a shower before going to sleep. They don't need to say anything, not yet, not when Isaac is so clearly caught up in his own head. As much as it pains Stiles to think, they have a routine now, and they both know what to do without having to talk it through.

Stiles strips Isaac slowly, bunching his shirt up in his fists and pulling it over the other boy’s head. He can’t keep in his angry inhale, eyes flickering over the mess of bruises that cover Isaac’s torso and chest. They’re varying in colour, though most of them are almost healed. There is one, right below his ribs where his too-thin stomach curves inward, that Stiles is sure would match up with Mr. Lahey’s foot.

Dropping the shirt, he ghosts a finger around the darkened skin, wanting nothing more than to hide Isaac away and never let him leave. If he did, Isaac would never be hurt again. Sometimes, he thinks about asking Isaac to run away. He is sure Dad would come with them, if it was both he and Isaac who asked him, and Isaac would never again have to go home to a father who has left more scars than Stiles will ever see. 

But, he knows that despite everything, Isaac loves his father. There is some twisted sort of devotion that the man has instilled and the worst part is that Stiles...Stiles can understand. He can understand what it’s like to wake up every morning hoping that  _ today _ is different: that today his father will be there when he wakes up, that today he won’t come home drunk, that today he won’t yell and yell and yell about how Stiles killed his mother by not being enough. 

He can remember crying himself to sleep every night, telling himself that tomorrow his daddy would love him again. 

And so Stiles knows that if he were to ask, Isaac would say no, and he doesn’t want to put either of them in that position. Rather, he takes care of Isaac every time he comes over, and he and his dad have gone to great lengths to make sure Isaac knows that he is always welcome and that he will always be safe with them. 

Isaac makes a noise, something soft and needy, and Stiles focuses back on his face. Isaac is staring down at him out of wide eyes, and Stiles takes his hands back, trying to dredge up a smile that he knows falls flat. He takes off his own shirt—Isaac doesn’t like being less dressed than him, and while Stiles doesn’t understand it he doesn’t mind—and he shimmies out of his pants after, standing in his boxers.

“Kiss me?” Isaac asks, as though he needs to, as though Stiles would ever not want to. 

Stepping closer, he wraps his arms loosely around Isaac’s back and stretches up, starting with a soft peck and then taking Isaac’s bottom lip into his mouth and biting down, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue and another sweet kiss. Isaac lets out a shuddering breath and Stiles smiles, undoing the button of Isaac’s jeans and pushing them down.

“Let’s shower,” Stiles says against Isaac’s mouth, his belly already going warm.

He takes a step back so he can push down his own underwear, and like every time he sees Isaac naked he gets caught up in just  _ looking _ . Isaac is gorgeous, has always been gorgeous, and Stiles can still remember the first time he saw Isaac and how it felt like the world had stopped turning for that short second that they had locked eyes. 

Even now, two and a half years after he worked up the courage to ask Isaac out for the first time, messily fumbling his words and blushing darker than he ever thought he could blush, he still feels breathless when he sees Isaac. Seeing Isaac like  _ this _ , open and bared and hiding nothing, makes Stiles’ chest go tight with just how much love he has for the boy in front of him.

“Stop staring, you sap,” Isaac mumbles, turning around to step into the shower and Stiles lets out the loudest whistle he can, laughing when Isaac gives him the finger. 

When Stiles steps into the shower, he plasters himself to Isaac’s back, resting his forehead between Isaac’s shoulders and letting the tension he’s felt since Isaac first showed up rush out of his body. The shower spray hits the top of his head, running down his neck at the slightly too-hot temperature that Isaac likes to set it at. 

Kissing the skin in front of him, he wraps Isaac up in his arms again, laying his palms wide over the other’s stomach. He doesn’t move his hands any lower until Isaac twines their fingers together and pushes their joined hands down. Isaac gasps when their hands wrap around his cock, and Stiles’ own hardness slips between Isaac’s thighs. 

It’s dry for both of them, but neither mind. Steam builds up around them and Stiles shudders when Isaac’s thighs tighten around his cock. He stokes Isaac slowly, swiping his thumb over the head on his next upstroke, lips twisting up in a small smile when Isaac lets out a low groan. His arousal continues to build slowly, climbing up his belly as he rolls his hips. The head of Stiles’ dick is nestled up behind Isaac’s balls, pressing against his sac every time he thrusts forward. 

Pressure builds and builds, both of their breathing getting harsher. Stiles can hear Isaac’s heartbeat racing through his back, and he nips at the unblemished skin in front of him. All of his attention has zeroed in to his dick, and he lets his free hand trail higher to play with Isaac’s nipples. Isaac whines, the noise high as he curls forward, bracing his hands on the tile in front of them as his thighs shake around Stiles’ cock. 

That helps to push Stiles over the edge. He’s hard enough that his foreskin has pulled back to expose the sensitive skin of his head, and the way it’s rubbing against the harried skin of Isaac’s balls, pressing up behind them and rubbing harshly against his perineum, has him shaking through an orgasm. He moans loudly, coming and coming as his hips continue to thrust weakly.

Stiles breathes deeply before speeding up where he’s stroking Isaac’s dick, sliding his other hand up from Isaac’s chest and resting it lightly, so very lightly, against Isaac’s throat. He makes a choked, distressed sounding noise that Stiles feels vibrate against his palm, but then he’s coming, spilling over Stiles’ hand. He continues to stroke him through it until Isaac’s whining turns distressed at the over sensitivity. 

Wrapping his arms back around Isaac’s stomach, he holds them both up, his own knees weak and breath coming in heavy pants. It feels like his brain has shut off, and he doesn’t do anything more than stand there, still holding Isaac close to himself. 

“I love you,” Isaac says quietly, and it’s easy to say the words back.

After another moment in which his heart feels impossible full, Stiles reaches behind him for the soap, not yet moving his face from where it’s pressed against Isaac’s skin. He mourns the touch when he pulls back, lathering the soap between his hands. Keeping his touch light, he sweeps his palms over Isaac’s back, turning him around to wash his front. He lowers himself to his knees so he can wash down Isaac’s legs, digging between his toes just to hear Isaac laugh. 

Looking up, Stiles sucks in a sharp breath at the way Isaac is looking down at him. His eyes are bright, his cheeks flushed and he’s chewing on his bottom lip. He looks beautiful, and Stiles says as much, breathing the words out in a whisper that Isaac hears over the pounding of water. Isaac’s fingers are warm against his cheeks, gentle as they run through Stiles’ wet hair—just touching, resting on his head when Stiles washes up the back of his legs. 

Isaac helps him up, shuffling forward for a kiss that Stiles leans his head up to accept. They wash Stiles together, a mix of hands running over his skin and it’s not long before they’re turning the water off and stepping out. They dry themselves off, and Isaac skips brushing his teeth to go straight to bed. Stiles isn’t really surprised, since Isaac is usually useless after an orgasm, though he still rushes through his own nightly routine to get to bed quicker. 

Isaac is already settled onto his side, his damp hair a curly mess from when he had ruffled it with his towel. Stiles closes his bedroom door behind him and he doesn’t bother putting anything on before climbing into bed, sliding under the covers with a sigh.

“I love you,” Isaac says again, reaching out for Stiles and pulling him close. 

Stiles goes easily, breathing the words into the small space between them. “I love you too, so much.”

“I've been talking to Dad,” Isaac says, and Stiles can't help but kiss him, pressing close and sliding their lips together gently. The way Isaac has slotted himself into his small family makes Stiles’ chest feel impossibly tight with how full his heart is. Isaac laughs against his mouth, pulling back but twining their fingers together on the bed between them. 

“I've been talking to Dad,” he repeats, his voice going serious, his eyes dropping to the space between them. “And—and he said that if I went to him, like, officially, he could get me away from my father.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, completely breathless, hope building and building until there's no room for anything else inside his chest.

“There's more,” Isaac tells him, his grin cheeky and playful and Stiles has to kiss that, too. When Isaac continues, he speaks in an excited whisper, scooting closer as he smiles wider and wider. “Dad said that I could live here, and he'd fight to foster me until I turned eighteen!”

Stiles laughs, a breathless thing as he buries his face in Isaac's neck, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and trying to get as close as possible. His heart is beating away in his chest, swelling with joy until he feels like he can hardly breathe. The news is more than he could have ever hoped for after spending two years trying to convince Isaac to officially report his father.

He wants to cry, just a little. He's overwhelmed, breathless, and he can't find the words he needs to tell Isaac how happy he is. Stiles can only hope the other boy knows, though he thinks he makes it clear with how tightly he's holding on, smoothing his hand up and down Isaac's back in large, slow strokes.

Kissing the skin in front of him, his smiles wider when Isaac hugs him back, and he shrieks when Isaac rolls onto his back, taking Stiles with him. Stiles gets comfortable, throwing one arm over their heads and tucking the other against Isaac's side. He rubs small circles into the warm skin with his thumb, listening to the slow beat of Isaac's heart against his ear.

Stiles smiles when Isaac presses a kiss to his forehead, and he returns the gesture to the skin he can reach, smiling as he settles in for sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be posted yesterday, but we lost power. it's been 17 hours and it's still not back up, so I'm hanging out at my college to get work down and charge up my laptop. hopefully, it comes back soon :(
> 
> [my tumblr!](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


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